


One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

by GentleFisherman



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Adult Content, Character Study, Childhood Memories, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Slow Burn, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 02:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30014481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GentleFisherman/pseuds/GentleFisherman
Summary: "It was only meant to be a meeting for a modelling shoot. Sone sort of up-and-coming clothing company who would pay her well for her time. But her father had always told her that she didn't need flashy clothes to be beautiful. If only she had listened to him this time. He would be so disappointed."Clive/Flora with mentions of Luke/Arianna and Layton/Claire. A fic about learning to heal with the family you've chosen, and learning to love with someone you thought you'd never see again.--------EXTREME CONTENT WARNING: Referenced sexual assault. There are no graphic descriptions but please please read with discretion.I would also like to note that I do not mean to turn such a heartwarming series dark for shock factor. This story closely relates to a situation from my own life, and writing it has been a great comfort to me. That being said, Flora is NOT a self insert and is still very much her own character.Main ship: Flora/CliveSecondary ships: Layton/Claire, Luke/Arianna (not tagged because minimal)
Relationships: Arianna Barde/Luke Triton, Clive/Flora Reinhold, Flora Reinhold & Luke Triton, Hershel Layton & Flora Reinhold, Hershel Layton & Luke Triton
Comments: 7
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is mostly a therapeutic excercise for me in expressing something that happened recently and learning to come to terms with it. As a result, I've drawn on a lot of my own responses to trauma here. But Flora is still her own character, and I hope that I can give one of the lesser noticed characters in the series some much deserved love and attention!
> 
> The Clora romance comes in a little later, so bear with for now.

It was only supposed to be a meeting about a photoshoot. They were an up-and-coming clothing company that specialised in ballgowns and other event wear, and Flora loved the idea- she'd never worn a gown before, even as a little girl. Obviously this wasn't because she couldn't afford one. More than that, father had never wanted to push anything too intricate or flashy on her.  
"You're a growing girl," he used to fondly say, in a voice that broke her heart to remember, "you should be able to play and explore. Pushing you into heavy frilly little frocks, as cute as they'd be, is simply not the way to do that." Her papa was always right, even after his death. She felt ashamed for not remembering his advice this time. He would be so disappointed.

See, Flora was a bright and cheerful girl with a lot of potential, but she wasn't particularly qualified in anything. For as much as Ingrid and Matthew had tried to tutor her in simple skills like reading and writing- and she had a knack for painting and gardening, too- a town built by robots unfortunately did not have the means to put her through the exams that most people her age would have taken years ago. She'd thought about taking her qualifications late, but they were just so expensive, and there's no way she could schmooze off of the Professor or the now grown-up Luke to put her through exams that she'd probably fail anyway. Flora was a stubborn little apple, and she wanted to earn her qualifications off her own back- without letting anyone down.  
Unfortunately, though, most jobs require a minimum number of passing grades- even just English and Maths- to even consider candidates. And so, even the catering and telesales companies would pass her up for more qualified employees. It was a nightmare. But it wasn't Papa's fault. He was expecting her to inherit his fortune and likely live comfortably for the rest of her life; leaving it untouched to keep her little village alive was totally her decision. But still, having no qualifications, no experience in much of anything, and a stubborn inability to ask her wealthier guardians for help, Flora was stuck with the less-than-invigorating puzzle of finding a way to make money. And after starting and failing a business in which she sold propagated plants (not enough interest or money to promote it); or offering freelance gardening at heavy discounts (underqualified and cheap, which put clients off); or even attempting to sell commissions for some of her paintings online (which she couldn't afford to advertise, which lead to another flop), she was at her wits end. It felt like all of the options in the world had been exhausted. The girl was out of luck, and would have to take to leaching off of her much harder-working mentor to make her own way. How humiliating.

It was a throwaway conversation, whilst she and the Professor were doing dishes together, that laid the foundation for her plan.  
"You know, Flora," the Professor commented whilst scrubbing a plate, "I still remember the first thing that Luke said when he saw your painting at Reinhold manor."  
"The painting of me?" Flora smiled at the memory of her old home, whilst wiping said plate down and placing it on the stack.  
"Yes- I can't say word for word, but I'm sure he just said something along the lines of, "she's beautiful". It was very endearing indeed."  
"Gosh," Flora let out a small laugh, and felt the apple on her neckline glow faintly. Luke had moved further into London now to pick up some work at Scotland Yard- and it was always comical, whilst remembering him, to also consider that he now worked alongside the same Inspector Chelmey who's face he'd tried to pull off upon first meeting him. Anyway, Flora continued on to say, "that's very sweet of him. But then we were paying that artist to paint me, and I'm sure removing all of my blemishes would be a great way to score a repeat customer, right?"  
"Nonsense, Flora, dear," Layton reassured her in his soothing, paternal tone, "you are a natural beauty. You look more and more like your mother every year, and everybody in the village remarked on how beautiful Lady Viola was."  
"I mean, most of the people who knew her were robots..." She protested weakly, unsure of what to say. In truth, whilst her self esteem wasn't all that low, she saw no particular appeal to herself. Everything, from her mousey brown hair to her long dresses, was embarrassingly plain. But recieving such a genuine compliment from the Professor, and even a comparison to her undeniably breathtaking late mother, both flustered and made her incredibly happy. "Thank you." She settled on, with a shy smile.  
"My dear girl, there is no need to thank me. A gentleman should always acknowledge the beauty of a lady."  
And with that, all of the dishes were done and put in their drawers. The Professor suggested that they watch a documentary together ("maybe a crime or a mystery," he said), which was one of her favourite things to do with him. And so they whacked the kettle on, settled down between the various stacks of archaeology books and papers on his sofa, and relaxed for a night of laid back entertainment.

When Flora returned to her room, accompanied by her new burst of inspiration, she immediately opened her computer (a laptop, though an old and bulky one by modern standards,) and set to work researching modelling careers. There were a lot of scam-looking sites, to be sure; 'Send us in a photo and we'll get you in Vogue!'. In the beginning, she typed her name and email into a particularly convincing one, but after a short amount of research realised that they really just accept anyone, and above that, they make you pay for the photos! Eventually, she settled on a site that acted as a sort of social media between budding models and amateur photographers. In essence, it seemed, she could upload some pictures of herself and details of her physique, and photographers seeking someone with her 'look' could inbox her to propose photoshoots and payment. And so, she made an account, with the firm belief that nobody was ever going to offer money to take pictures of someone like her. Even if the Professor and Luke thought her beautiful, they were practically family- and she didn't imagine they'd call her unattractive, even if it was true. On top of that, she had never recieved any male attention particularly- it wasn't like she wanted to be fawned over her or anything, but it was still a little bit of a sting that nobody had even tried.  
And so, with a thousand random thoughts whirling around her tired head, she switched off her computer and drifted off to sleep.


	2. Someone Old, Someone New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old face reappears. Very grateful for the positive feedback last chapter, it means the world. More exposition, reflection and a lot a lot of thinking.

Flora was awoken by the sunlight filtering through the curtains and illuminating her little room. It wasn't as big as the tower had been, but then most single apartments in London aren't as big as full-sized cottages. And it was still cozy- mostly because she wasn't alone anymore.

Once a year she would go back to St Mystere for a weekend or so, to check up on Bruno and visit her mother and everything in between. It was the Professor's idea (in truth, having lived primarily in a tower for her whole life, she still wasn't really used to making travel plans yet,) but every time she went, she would be given another trinket to take home with her. A personalised throw knitted by Ingrid, which lay over her desk chair. A few of Bruno's cogs, that sat on her shelf as warm reminders of home. And the Lady Dahlia, whenever she visited the manor, always insisted on spoiling her with beautiful accessories and scarves and old photos- and even some of Viola's old clothes, that hung delicately in her wardrobe. They didn't fit- she hadn't grown as tall as her mother, but the sentiment meant just as much.  
As for Matthew, he had taken the time to pot some of the flowers from her mother's graveside in a pretty little planter, which sat on a windowsill bathing in the London sun. With what she was sure must be her mother's spirit, the flowers always prospered just as well as they did in her tomb- despite the incredibly different conditions. They were a great comfort to tend to.  
Most of her room was decorated with spoils from the villagers of St Mystere. But most precious to her, tucked into the book cubby that sat above her bed, was her father's diary. Reading it never failed to remind her of how much she was loved. And whenever she felt herself missing her parents, Flora felt blessed to have such beautiful items to remember them by. In her darkest days, they always helped to make her feel less lonely. It was like the spirit of them, and the village they'd created, was with her always.

In reality, she'd only been awake for a few minutes, drowsily scanning across her many keepsakes, when Layton's voice barked out much more loudly than usual.  
"Flora, are you up?" He called out to her. "Don't come down for the moment, please, dear. I'll come up in a second."

This was a troubling instruction to recieve. In truth, there were a fair few worries that kept her up at night, and situations like this did a swell job of kicking them right up to the front of her mind. Was it her village? Had something happened to Bruno, or had someone else somehow discovered the fortune and turned her village to dust, or even found out about her? Had he seen the profile she created last night, and disapproved? Was Luke okay? Was Don Paolo trying to kidnap her again? Or, speaking of kidnappings, was-

There was a gentle knock at the door.  
"Good morning, Flora." The Professor started, in a voice that surfaced her from the ocean she felt to be drowning in. "I see you must have just woken up. I'm sorry if I startled you."  
"No, not at all," she shook her head with a polite little laugh, "I was awake a little while. So... what was it you wanted to talk about?”  
Sensing the worry in her eyes, Hershel began at once to explain.  
"Well, first of all, Luke has come to stay for the weekend with Arianna."  
"Oh! Great!" Flora chirped, "but why would that be-"  
"Wait just a moment, please. You see Flora, an old friend of ours was released from prison just last week. He apparently pestered Luke to no end for the chance to come and see. And since he'd done a fair bit of rehabilitating and remorsing, as they say, Luke didn't think it would be a problem to bring him along with them on their visit. I'm sure you know who I'm referring to."

There was only one person who they had both befriended and imprisoned. There was only one person she'd really befriended at all on their adventures. And that was Clive Dove; creator of the supposed future London, and the one who had kidnapped her all those years ago. Memories came back in snapshots, of being yanked by the arm onto the boat, of being sped across the river, of being thrown and locked into a glass tube inside its 'lighthouse'. Slamming on the glass with all her might, begging to be let out. Feeling the ground become uneven and tremble like an earthquake beneath her feet. Her voice being bounced around the tube, but barely reaching the outside- where it fell on deaf ears. That lonely, despairing, suffocating feeling. Not knowing what was going to happen, or if she'd even live to make it out. And the pure, petrified fury in his eyes as he both taunted the Professor and Luke, and silently begged them to save him from himself. In the beginning, the mere mention of that time would be enough to have her hyperventilating in the corner. Nowadays, it wasn't as bad, but her fingertips still felt ice cold.

"I understand if you don't want to see him. He has asked to make amends with you, which is why I thought I'd warn you beforehand- truthfully I was not expecting to see him here today either. If you'd like to talk it over, I'm here. And if you want to be left alone, by all means, do say." The Professor's comforting monologue was bringing the warmth back into her hands a little. He then placed a hand on her shoulder, which increased her sense of safety tenfold.   
"Can I have some time to think about it?" She asked meekly, folding her hands in her lap and giving the professor a nervous smile.  
"Of course, my dear. Come down if you're ready to. And if you don't feel ready this time, I'll come back up when he's gone. Is that alright?"  
"Okay." It really was a blessing to have a mentor as kind and understanding as the Professor. Such a gentle source of authority was her main grounding when she felt herself panicked or lonely. She gave him another silent 'thank you' as he shut the door with a quiet click behind him. She was safe here. That much she could bet on.

But now it was time to think.

Clive Dove. Someone who had kidnapped her, locked her in a glass bubble, and never so much as apologised after she was freed. She had a lot of feelings to unpack that she hadn't thought about in a long time.   
Firstly; his focus was evidently never on her in the first place, which was proven by her absence from his "Future" London. She was a wrench in the gears; a frustrating blip in an otherwise perfect invention; but someone who was cared about just enough to be manipulated into a stepping stone to reach her mentor. It was painful, to remember how kind he was whilst mimicking Luke. He was handsome, and gentlemanly, and gave her a lot of attention, which she'd never really recieved from anyone outside of her adopted family- even if he was meant to be an older version of one of them. Her heart fluttered when he offered her his arm. At the times where they were left in that hotel room together, she'd shared things about home that she'd never even told the Professor. But the mask eventually slipped, in a way she'd never seen before, and he transformed in seconds from one of her first true friends into someone who saw her as little more than a pawn. It ached, and what he put her through was frightening. She had every right to refuse to speak to him again. But somehow, if Luke trusted him enough to let him into their home, she hoped that he had changed. There was a compelling curiosity that was slowly dressing her, making her presentable, and leading her down the stairs. She couldn't seem to stop herself.

Standing outside of the kitchen door, she took a great breath in. The only thought that passed through her head was:  
"Here goes nothing."


	3. Doing The Right Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conversation.

The window was open. Usually the crisp morning air was a great refresher, but this time it made the kitchen feel like an interrogation room. They were sat opposite each other, doing everything they could to avoid making eye contact. The kettle boiled; that was what she was focusing on. He was staring at a pretty bouquet of pink tulips at the centre of the table. Luke, who was waiting on that kettle, acted as a silent guard.

It switched off. The snap dragged her back into the room, and now she was looking right at him, straight into the blue eyes that had appeared in both her dreams and nightmares. There was only one thing she could think to ask.  
"How did you feel about me?"

Obviously, the question came as a shock to them both. Luke looked up at her, nearly formed a word, and then silently left the room; he'd decided that this was not the sort of conversation that needed an audience. And besides, if she was in trouble, he'd be able to hear her from the lounge. Hopefully.  
Clive was staring back at her now, with his eyes raised above the tulips. It seemed that he hadn't prepared for her to ask that question, and sat silently, stammering to form the right words. Of all of the things that she wanted to ask about what happened- was this really what she prioritised the most? Why was his friendship more important to her than being kidnapped? Why wasn't she shouting, or lecturing him, or telling him to get out of her house?

Sensing that she'd thrown him a little too hard of a curveball, she decided to add some context- even if it felt too kind.  
"I grew up in a town full of robots. I did tell you that- I don't imagine you'd remember." He did, but let her continue. "The Professor and Luke were the first humans, aside from my parents, that I'd ever met- and my father entrusted them with looking after me. And, I mean, my villagers were the most realistic inventions I'll probably ever come across, but they were still only cogs and springs. So other than my family, and the people who adopted me, I had no friends. You were the first person outside of my family who ever made the effort to get to know me. And then... when it all came to a head, you..."   
She covered her face with her hands and let her shoulders tremble with silent sobs. How humiliating, to cry in front of someone who you were meant to hate. But the memories were washing over, one by one, and looking at him like that, with the same dark eyebrows, and the same creases on his cheeks, and the same scruff in his hair...   
"I'm sorry." There was nothing else that needed to be said. "It's not good enough- it will never make up for it, and I can't ask for forgiveness now. I have hurt you beyond anything that I can repair."

There was a short pause. A bird had began chirping outside, and its song was the only thing that pierced the awful silence. He was fumbling over his words again, but he had to get this right, because she was never going to speak to him again. This was his only chance. And there were a million things that he wanted to express, but he har to start somewhere, and so, slowly, and with great hesitation, the words began to fall into place.  
"I can't ask for forgiveness, and I will never be able to apologise enough. But I am truly sorry. And to answer your question- I really did care for you, Flora. It's not the type of care you deserve, because it was cunning and manipulative and aggressive, but I felt as close to you as you did to me in those times we spent together. It was scary, really- you were such a pure soul, and I thought that if there were more people like you in that horrible city, then maybe it didn't deserve to be destroyed. The care I had for you made me question everything. But I had been so full of hate for such a long time, that not even the sweetest angel I'd ever met could save me from my... my horrible ways. So yes. I cared for you so much, and I still do. You were too good for me then, and you're too good for me now. But I felt lucky to be your friend."

The words were too much to handle. Flora broke down in wretched, hiccupping sobs, for reasons that she couldn't put into words. It was grief for the person that he could have been. It was regret that they had met under such horrible circumstances. It was hatred, and anger, and terrified despair. But somehow, his answer had picked up parts of her heart that had lain shattered since he left. He did care. And the realization of such a thing felt like a balm to her injured soul. And so it all flooded out, in choked whimpers; everything that she'd felt after all that time. It was indescribable. And as he sat in ashamed silence opposite her, she didn't think he knew that he was lifting a huge weight off of her shoulders.

"Flora?" Luke called with a gentle knock at the door. "Are you alright in there?”  
”Yes," she whimpered out, "I'm just very emotional. Don't worry. I'll be done in a minute."  
"Take your time," he said in that warm cockney drawl, and his footsteps receeded down to the lounge. She felt at once that she had to say something. The silence was becoming too much.

"I'm glad that it wasn't just me." She smiled, and his heart broke to see it. There was not enough punishment in the world to make up for the hurt he'd caused. And seeing her cheeks reddened, her shoulders shaking and her eyes watering like that, felt like more of a punishment than prison. He did not deserve her audience. He didn't deserve the chance to apologise. And yet, there was more that he wanted to say, and he couldn't stop himself from speaking.

"There... there is nothing I can say that can justify what I've done to you. I don't even deserve to be sat in front of you right now. But I've always wanted to say that... in my own twisted, fucked up way, that I kidnapped you because I thought it would protect you. You had made such an impression on me, and I thought that you deserved saving, which is why I designed that little bubble. I knew you wouldn't understand that, so I kept you there by force. It doesn't make up for it, and again, you should definitely never forgive me, but..."  
"I want to see you again." The statement was a shock to them both. He was the person who had taken her by force, threatened her hometown and her family, and broken her trust forever. He'd come into this fully expecting to be called a horrible person and be sent on his way. And she was expecting to do just that- but her heart was saying otherwise.  
"I don't forgive you." She continued, tentatively. "I will never forgive what you did to me, and the danger you put my family in. But I- I can't explain it. It's stupid, and I should absolutely say no, and I really want to, but..."

Her heart was full to bursting. The tears had dried up in the wake of a burning passion; a determination not to lose him again. There must be a way to stay in touch in spite of everything. It would take time, and healing, but for her first real friend, she wanted to do it. There had to be some way to do that.

He had no idea how to respond. 

He wanted to tell her what a horrendously bad idea it was. How she shouldn't keep people in her life that had put her in danger and betrayed her trust- how she should forget about him and find some healthy and normal people to be friends with. Not him. But somehow, the only words that came to him were,  
"I want to see you again, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love overpowers judgement. (And I want them to end up together ;;)


	4. What Comes Next

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't proofread this at all. I'll do it later. For now this is sort of my draft copy.

With all of the drama that had happened that morning, Flora had all but forgotten about her newest work venture. After a cup of tea to calm down and a long talk with Luke and the Professor about whether she was SURE that she knew what she was doing, she returned to her room for a quick breather. When her eyes flitted across the desk, they fell upon her laptop, and she went to pick it up cautiously. Surely, she reasoned, her profile would have gotten little to no attention. There was no way she had enough beauty to justify being paid for photoshoots. And with these doubts in mind, she opened up the device, tapped in her login details, and for those few seconds of loading, a million things were passing through her head-

She had 43 new messages.

Forty-three. The breath left her lungs like a deflated balloon. It was a winding, nerve-wracking feeling, and it also filled her with pride. People really thought that she was pretty enough for modelling work. To be seen on magazines, or adverts, or maybe even a catwalk. It was surreal, and incredibly moving.  
She opened the inbox. Her eyes scanned the first few message previews, and she reminded herself to stay vigilant- sites like these must be full of fakes and dodgy bastards. A few were asking if she was interested in adult video work, which she promptly deleted. Many of them were asking for her rates, which she realised she hadn't actually put on her profile yet. What was a good rate for modelling? For a new starter, it surely couldn't be much? She took a stab in the dark and said £50 for the hour; if that was unreasonable, she was sure she'd soon find out.

All in all, out of the many messages recieved, about ten of them seemed to be either inappropriate or suspicious. One was asking her to fly out to Prague, with flights and accommodations paid for, which seemed like a blatant front for trafficking. She'd done a lot of research, and was semi-confident about what to look out for, but nonetheless found that the majority of messagers were genuine sounding people. It was hard to keep her wits about her when they were so kind and complimentary. And it was all so hard to wrap her head around- surely it couldn't be this easy, as a girl with no experience and no particular style or influence, to start out in such a lucrative industry. It felt too good to be true. But it also just felt so incredibly good.

Eventually she was in a back-and-forth with a man in his forties who came across as very pleasant. He wasn't asking for any adult content, or pornography, or whether or not she had a boyfriend; he seemed like a very genuine guy, who was trying to start up a fitness clothing brand and was looking for some healthy-looking young women to model some of his range. Flora was not a particularly active person, and made sure to tell him this- but he assured her that it didn't matter. That she was young, and very pretty, and looked to be in great shape- a perfect face for the brand. Her heart was so full of flattery that she wasn't even remotely suspicious.

They arranged to meet up later in the week for coffee, to have a look at some of his sketches and discuss rates and availability for the shoot. Flora considered asking the Professor or Luke to come along with her, but decided that that might seem a bit intimidating for her new potential employer. And besides, if it went well, and she got herself some regular work, she could surprise them both with how well she was doing. And also finally let the Professor have the flat to himself again, or even move somewhere more affordable, where he didn't have to cover rent and bills for two people.

Things were really looking up for Flora. For the first time in a long time, she felt confident in being able to make her own way in the world, even without some silly exam grades. And maybe, if she did well enough, she could finally repay the Professor and Luke for all of the work they put in to care and look out for her after all these years. It was a thrilling fantasy; one that she truly wanted to live in. And not only that, but she had a chance to mend things with someone that she never thought she'd see again, and get back one of her first ever friends. It was all so energizing. Her new life was about to start, and she couldn't be more ready.

But as they say, when you look at the world through rose coloured glasses, all of the red flags just look like flags.

...

It was a bright and beautiful morning in central London, and the city bustled with energy. For every little field, there were five or six tourists reclined on the grass, babbling animatedly to each other. The trees sat in uniform rows bordering the cobbled walkways, and the way that the light lit up their emerald leaves was truly breathtaking. London was always alive, and breathing, and had no shortage of things to do. Flora used to be terrified of going out into such a big city; partially after being kidnapped and dumped in a stable those many years ago in Dropstone, but also just because it was so different to the village that she grew up in. In time, though, she'd learned to love it as she did her own home, and now felt energised by the life and activity of the city. A lavishly dressed couple returning from the theatre. A few photographers bent double in search of a good angle and snapping pictures of the local sights. Fascinated tourists, grumpy looking salarymen and brightly dressed students made up equal parts of the endlessly fascinating crowd. Truly, there was nowhere like it in the world.

But if she got distracted looking at all of the people again, she'd never make it to their meeting place.  
They'd settled on a pretty little artisan café, because he said that he knew the owners and that the coffee was to die for. The menu online seemed a little expensive, but as she neared the place she could see why- they'd certainly put effort into making it look like a high-class, artisan experience, with a minimalist font for the name bordered in rich black panelling.  
She took a seat on one of the benches outside, and relished the chance to do some more people-watching. Somehow, every time she'd been out since her conversation with Clive, she held onto the secret hope that maybe they'd bump into each other somewhere. And maybe they could hang out. And maybe she could enjoy his company as much as she used to. But in truth, he hadn't contacted her once since coming over, which was actually quite disappointing.

Caught up with thoughts of Clive, as she often was nowadays, she didn't notice a man approaching until he took a seat opposite her. He was dressed well, in a button-down shirt and smart black trousers, and smelled of a classy cologne. The man was clearly bald, but sported a charming paperboy-style cap which framed his mustachioed face very well. The thing that stood out the most to her, other than his warm and comforting smile, was how brilliantly blue his eyes were. She felt already at ease with this person- and was eager to talk business.

"I'm glad to see that the pictures were true." He smiled amicably. "A lot of girls on that site are fakes. But you're a true beauty."  
She blushed at the flattery.  
"Thank you." Was her demure response.  
"No problem. I only speak the truth. Now, shall we talk prices? I've had a scan of your profile and I have a vague idea of what you offer, but what are your levels? If I wanted to book you for a day or a half day, how much would that be?"  
"My levels?" She asked.  
"Like, what's your upper limit, basically."  
"Oh!" She let out an embarrassed giggle. "Well I don't want to do anything... unclothed. I noticed some of the girls on that site offer, like, porn shoots, which isn't something I'd be interested in. Just regular photos, all clothed, I suppose. Maybe an underwear shoot at the most. Is that alright?"  
He sucked his lip in, which made her a little nervous, and nodded.  
"Yes, that's fair enough. It's a shame though. Catching you on video would be truly beautiful- you could make a lot of money that way. Are you sure you'd never consider it?"  
"No." She said firmly. "I don't think I could ever be comfortable with that. Are you still interested in shooting? Oh, and- as for rates- this would be my first shoot so I'm not really sure. How much do you usually offer?"  
"A half day of clothed shots I'd say is worth maybe 100, 150 for an underwear shoot. I'd be happy to give you 250 for the day- you are very young, with a great physique, and you seem a reliable girl- which isn't always easy to come by. How does that sound? If we do a shoot say over the weekend, and work something out from there, we might even be able to get something more regular going."  
The proposition was incredibly exciting.  
"Yes! I would be very interested. Thank you for offering! I'll do my best."  
And with a small chat about dates and times, and an eventual plan in place, she was on her way back home.


End file.
